Listener Of Men
by MarthaJones11
Summary: Her eyes furrowed at his command. So this was to be their marriage; he, a demanding and controlling tyrant with no moral code or connection to the spirituality and lives of the elves of Lothlorien, she, a free spirit who refused to be tamed by his demands. One of them would break eventually, and it would not be her.
1. Chapter 1

The winding staircases of Lothlorien brought her ever nearer to her destination, ever closer to the shining pavilion that gleamed underneath the woodland stars. Though the night was dark, her footsteps were quick and true, leading her past guards and sentries until she reached the base of the grand staircase that rose to meet her parents' ruling seat. After kneeling quickly in a needless display of respect, she rose and darted up the final flight of stairs before coming to rest at several feet from her intended destination. Pausing outside the barred door of their private chambers, she caught muttered words of impassioned conversation. Her father's voice, slightly agitated, came through first.

"And you are certain that this is the intended path?"

Her mother's words, slow and measured, followed in kind.

"I have foreseen it. It is the way."

There was a sigh, followed by the shuffling of feet and the rustling of parchment. Then a voice sounded that she did not recognize. It was deep and rumbled through the doorway. It held none of the light and prophecy that oft accompanied her parent's speech. Rather, it was dark, cavernous like the far reaches of the abysmal forests, and was tinged with arrogance.

"Your visions have been wrong before. The darkness corrupts all – even you, Lady Galadriel."

"Measure your words wisely, Elvenking," her father snapped, putting feigned emphasis on the title. "You forget yourself."

A soft chuckle came from the deep voice, from this Elvenking.

"Tell me, Lord Celeborn," he responded, "Could you forget the most important elf in your kingdom? How much more could I forget myself?"

"Much as your conversation enthralls me," her mother broke in, her voice cool and clear and refreshing as a mountain stream amidst the bickering speech of the two men, "I do believe we have company."

Her breath hitched in her throat as she moved to back away from the door, but to no avail. The heavy entry swung open, and she found herself looking into the blazing eyes of her father. Never before had she seen him so angry. The calm of Lord Celeborn was legendary – it nearly rivaled the composure of his Lady wife. She wondered at what would demand such passion from him.

"Erulastiel. Join us please, good daughter," came his voice, stiff with the effort of maintaining his cool façade.

She did not need further instruction. Sweeping into the room, she found a spot standing against the wall, mere steps from her mother. Across the room, leaning lazily from a chair and resting against the grand table, sat the third voice Erulastiel had heard from outside the room – the voice of this Elvenking.

"How do you fare, Erulastiel?" came her mother's voice.

Erulastiel turned, hoping to find answers in Galadriel's eyes. She found them guarded as usual. Her resolve heightening, she decided to observe the courtesies – for the time being.

"I fare well, mother," she responded. "The borders remain guarded and strong. None passed during my watch. I left the precinct in Haldir's most capable hands the moment I received your summons."

She would have continued, but her words were cut short by a soft laugh in the corner, coming from the Elvenking's mouth.

"Does something amuse you, King Thranduil?" her father asked, now seated across from their guest.

Thranduil. Erulastiel knew that name. She had learned it long ago in her studies, had heard it whispered through the halls of Lothlorien. Thranduil, the Elvenking of the Woodland Realm. Thranduil, the elf who holed up his kingdom in great, dark caverns where the starlight barely reached. Thranduil, whose love of riches and all things corporeal proved him lesser among the elven rulers. What was this so-called King doing in their halls?

"I simply would not expect the daughter of the great Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel to be stationed as a common sentry," came the reply from Thranduil, his voice tinged with amusement.

Her Lord father seethed from across the room. Galadriel noticed his reaction as well, and maintained composure in her response.

"Do you have children, King Thranduil?" she asked calmly.

Thranduil smirked at her, gazing evenly at her mother over the brim of a golden goblet. He raised it slightly in Erulastiel's direction, then tipped it back and downed its contents in a single swallow. Tossing it to the table, he allowed it to roll and clatter onto the floor before answering the question.

"I had thought that this meeting would solve that slight inconvenience," he responded evenly, his eyes shifting from Galadriel to Erulastiel in one smooth movement.

An uneasy silence filled the room. Erulastiel's eyes darted around, desparately trying to make contact with Galadriel's eyes, but she had turned from her daughter and now stood at the balcony of their small council chamber. She again tried to meet her father's eyes, and momentarily succeeded before he dropped them to some parchment upon the table. Warily, as a final resort, she turned her gaze on Thranduil. He did not disappoint.

Waves of emotion ran over her. Triumph and immense sorrow, death and pain – so much pain, she felt it coursing through her veins – regret and shame and misery, flashes of imagined, shallow joy amidst the hurt, then nothing as his eyes closed and turned away from her. Breathing heavily, Erulastiel grabbed for the back of the nearest chair, missing her mark through the lingering pain. She started to fall to the stone surface, but strong arms halted her decent. She had no need to look to their owner – Thranduil's chair was now empty, his hands grasping her arms and preventing her fall.

"Thank you, King Thranduil," she muttered, embarrassed at her clumsiness. She was a great archer and protector of Lothlorien, not some common ranger.

Thranduil said nothing, only returned to his seat and stared at her curiously. After several moments of silence, he spoke first.

"You have the gift," he said simply. Standing and pacing the room, he stopped to look intently at Celeborn and Galadriel. "I was not informed of this."

"What does it matter? It changes nothing," Celeborn responded, his previous anger seemingly under some control.

"It changes everything!" Thranduil hissed, his previous cool façade gone, his words seething under the threat of thinly veiled violence. "Do you mean for her to be your little spy? To report on the movements and motivations of my kingdom?"

Galadriel had turned away from the balcony at the sound of the argument. She moved silently to her daughter's side, brushing against her shoulder with a calming hand. As the two men fought, Erulastiel looked up and into her mother's deep eyes, eyes that were momentarily and purposefully unguarded. Several moments passed. Erulastiel lowered her eyes and looked sadly toward her father, who felt her gaze and turned away from Thranduil. Silence passed for many moments.

"You mean to join our kingdoms," she said finally, her voice soft, full of pain and betrayal. "You mean to wed me to this, this false king of Mirkwood. I will spend my days a figurehead, a distraction, a member of some false court, away from the trees I call home and far from the freedom you have taught me to love."

She closed her eyes, fighting the tears that promised to flow forth. They snapped open as Thranduil spoke.

"Perhaps you should learn some respect, little one," he seethed, clenching tight hands behind his back in a feeble effort to contain his anger. "Or you will see just how unworthy a king I can be."

Celeborn gasped and moved away from the table, making slow steps toward the Elvenking who threatened his daughter. Galadriel sighed deeply and cut off her husband's movement with measured words.

"Enough, all of you. Tonight, we shall retire, for the hour grows late and the skies grow dark. Tomorrow, Erulastiel will accompany Thranduil to the Woodland Realm for a single moon to allow for marriage preparation."

Three voices began to rise in protest. Galadriel silenced them all with a raised hand and a piercing stare.

"All has not yet been revealed, not even to me. But this marriage is of great necessity, although it pains all affected," she finished wearily, glancing at her daughter and husband in turn. She turned to Thranduil. "King Thranduil, I would be most grateful if you escorted Erulastiel to her chambers."

"I need no escort."

"She has guards for that purpose."

Erulastiel and Thranduil's voices sounded simultaneously, both balking at Galadriel's request. But this was Lady Galadriel, and both knew how their protests would end.

Moments later, Thranduil was guiding Erulastiel from the small council chamber; his arm and hand wrapped around hers. They glided past sentries posted along the staircase and walked through throngs of elves gathered to catch a glimpse of the Elvenking. Erulastiel kept a smile on her face for the sake of her people.

They could not know that Thranduil's grip grew ever tighter around her wrist.


	2. Chapter 2

Thranduil threw open the carved door to Erulastiel's chambers and released her roughly inside, slamming the wooden entryway behind him as he stalked into the room. Erulastiel stumbled slightly, taken aback by his action, then regained composure. She glanced down at her wrist and rubbed it absentmindedly. He had gripped so tightly that she'd doubtless have a bruise come morning – one she would most certainly attempt to hide from her parents.

"Where do you keep your wine?" came Thranduil's rumbling voice as he searched her chambers for some vintage.

Erulastiel now studied the Elvenking more closely. He was tall, taller than her father and Lord Elrond, to be sure. Golden-white hair, shimmering like her mother's locks, flowed softly down his shoulders and back, held away from his pale face by a polished crown of branches and red berries. His clothes were stately, shimmering with gems and jewels; very much unlike the practical robes she had seen other ruling elves wear. Everything about Thranduil seemed disturbing to Erulastiel – his love of earthly pleasures, his arrogant manner of speech and step, his need for complete control – and his temper, she thought, grimacing as she continued to rub her sore wrist.

"Did you not hear me, little one, or are you simply choosing to be so impertinent in an attempt to force me from your chambers so you might remove those unseemly clothes you choose to wear?" Thranduil's voice broke through her thoughts.

Erulastiel sighed to herself. She knew what she looked like in comparison to the great Elvenking's splendor. Her hair, golden like her mothers yet matted with dirt and tangles from her ranging, was pulled back sharply from her face and dotted with messy braids. Her face itself was tanned and stained from days in the sunlight, and her hands calloused from use of bow and arrow in defense of her kingdom. Her clothing doubtless displeased Thranduil – she wore the high boots, leather pants and heavy tunics and cloaks of the guardian elves at their borders, not the fine silks and jewels that bedecked other elven women of noble birth.

It was in that moment that Erulastiel knew that Thranduil should be marrying another, and she would do all her power to make that happen. She turned to him and tilted her head slightly, providing him with a soft smile that did not reach her annoyed eyes.

"I keep no wine in my chambers, King Thranduil," she responded, "I choose to refrain from the drink."

Thranduil's eyes widened, his thick eyebrows shot into his forehead. For a moment, he stood staring incredulously at her. Then a laugh escaped his lips.

"Well, I suppose we'll have to address that once you enter my kingdom," he said, smiling to himself as though enjoying a private joke. "You are aware that the vineyards of the Woodland Realm provide the best wines of the land?"

Erulastiel shrugged.

"I have heard, yes," she retorted. "But if your kingdom's claim to power lies in your production of a mere drink, what does that say of the integrity of your lands?"

Thranduil's smile dropped, his eyes became hard and guarded. At last abandoning his futile search for wine, he clasped long fingers behind his back – a gesture, Erulastiel understood, he made when attempting to control his anger – and began circling her as a predator encloses its prey. His eyes bore into her as his circles became ever tighter, and Erulastiel at last flinched away from his gaze as he rounded tightly behind her back, coming to rest in front of her face. She held his intense gaze for as long as possible before dropping her eyes to the floor of her chambers. Keeping her eyes on her scuffed boots, she prayed that Thranduil would leave, prayed even for a respite from his presence until the morning. Cold fingers underneath her chin meant her prayers had gone unanswered. She allowed them to guide her eyes to the Elvenking's face once more. It was unreadable. She gazed into his eyes, attempting to read some information, but found them barred against her stare. Fingers tightened painfully on her jaw.

"You will cease the use of that gift once we enter my kingdom," Thranduil said harshly. "Is that understood?"

Her eyes furrowed at his command. So this was to be their marriage – he, a demanding and controlling tyrant with no moral code or connection to the spirituality and lives of the elves of Lothlorien, she, a free spirit who refused to be tamed by his demands. One of them would break eventually, and it would not be her.

"I am to be your wife, not your slave, not your child, not your ward," Erulastiel responded, keeping her voice even despite her discomfort. "We will rule equally, I will do as I please, so long as it brings to harm to our kingdoms."

Thranduil's fingers tightened even further briefly, then he released her face, pushing it aside as he did so. Erulastiel stepped back, breathing slightly ragged, gripping her jaw where the soreness still lingered.

"You will not continue this vendetta against my control," came Thranduil's voice, soft and dangerous.

Erulastiel already understood that voice to be the most threatening of Thranduil's speech, but she refused to back away. Her life would not be relinquished so swiftly.

"Pray tell, why will I cease my actions? Why should I willingly relinquish my freedoms?" she responded.

Thranduil gazed at her, his eyes a mixture of emotions that she could read only slightly, as his guard had dropped during their confrontation. Pain, again, overwhelming pain, was the only emotion to reach her mind. It vanished as the Elvenking turned from her, ignoring her previous question and reaching for the handle of her door. He said nothing as he lifted the latch and exited, his grand robes sweeping behind him before the door again slammed harshly closed.

Erulastiel let out a harsh breath, one she had been holding as Thranduil slowly left her chambers. She took several moments to regain control, and then found her bed and threw herself upon its surface. She did not even bother to remove her leather pants and ranging tunic, she could not muster the strength to pull the harsh braids from her hair, before falling into a deep and restless slumber, her dreams haunted by deep eyes filled with pain.


	3. Chapter 3

"But you won't be accompanying me to Mirkwood?"

Erulastiel's voice was sharp, sharper than she wished when addressing her dearest handmaiden, Istimiel. The elf was slightly older than Erulastiel, but held on to the youthful nature that enhanced their relationship. When Erulastiel was born, Istimiel had been bound to her service as handmaiden and teacher, instructing the princess in ways of courtly responsibility and feminine manners. Despite the lessons never taking hold, the two remained near inseparable when Erulastiel slept in her chambers at Lothlorien, and was away from ranging at the borders.

"My lady, King Thranduil insists that two riders – you and his Kingship – will travel faster without handmaidens and attendants," Istimiel said. "He has even turned down the honor guard your parents offered."

Erulastiel's eyes narrowed, her mind raced through thoughts of their conversation the previous night. This wasn't about expediency, she realized. This was Thranduil playing the game – he wanted control, and assumed isolating her from her past at Lothlorien in every way would expedite that process. Little did he know, she thought, that she wouldn't give in so easily. Smiling to ease Istimiel's concerned stare, she returned to the task at hand: packing for life in the Woodland Realm.

"Hasn't King Thranduil offered to have new garments fitted once you reach his land?" Istimiel asked.

"Oh yes," Erulastiel responded, her voice dripping with disdain. "And what will he ensure is sewn? Dresses and gowns, no doubt. I will not surrender my way of life to boost his ego."

Istimiel's eyebrows raised, but she said nothing against Erulastiel's harsh words.

"Very well, my lady. Best to make haste. King Thranduil expects to leave within the morn."

Erulastiel snorted, a very unladylike action that earned her a disapproving stare from Istimiel. She took no heed.

"King Thranduil will leave when I am ready, and no sooner," she responded. "Now, help me finish so I may dress and leave with my dashing future husband."

The packing was completed within the hour. Istimiel aided Erulastiel in choosing clothing for the long road ahead, one that would take them through the forest, then across vast plains, then through the deep and treacherous woods of Mirkwood. They finally decided upon stiff leather boots and tough leggings that would protect her feet and legs whether riding or walking, and a long tunic with vest and cloak to outfit her body. Her hair was drawn back with tight braids to keep her eyes free for the journey, and Istimiel tied a leather band about her forehead to ensure the tendrils stayed put.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," Erulastiel called, finishing gathering her weapons for the journey. She would not find herself in the wilderness without her bow and arrow, nor without her blade, with which she found herself adequate, but not properly skilled. Still, it would not hurt to have its protection close at hand.

Lady Galadriel glided into her chambers, hair shining like burnished gold, eyes glistening with prophecy. Istimiel bowed deeply, waiting for Galadriel's soft nod before rising and continuing to ready Erulastiel.

"How fare you, my daughter?" she asked calmly, encircling the room while inspecting Erulastiel's choice in clothing.

"Well, mother," Erulastiel responded, absentmindedly pulling a sleeve of her tunic over the bruises Thranduil had graced her wrist with.

Her mother noticed her small movement, but said nothing. Doubtless, she already knew of their argument. Her mother's silence was a blessing for Erulastiel, and she gave silent thanks that she would not be forced to contend with her parents today. Unhappy as she was with Galadriel and Celeborn, she did not wish for her last day in Lothlorien to be marred by memories of bickering – one month seemed like eons.

"I have come bearing a gift," Galadriel said, her liquid voice breaking Erulastiel away from her thoughts.

From a satchel over her shoulder, Galadriel drew a shimming platinum tunic, silvery-white in color and dancing with the brightness of the stars. Erulastiel felt drawn to its fabric. She ran her hands over it, feeling its lightness and softness. Her eyes met her mother's – which betrayed nothing, as usual.

"Mithril?" she asked, her voice wondrous.

Galadriel nodded.

"You embark on a dangerous journey, daughter," she said. "You face threats from many sides. May this tunic guard you from foes both far and near, and protect you from all harm."

Erulastiel bowed deeply, then removed her outer garments to ensure the mithril found its way against her skin. Cool and light, it was unnoticeable underneath her clothing. Her mother smiled and nodded to Istimiel, who had finished gathering Erulastiel's belongings.

"Shall we find King Thranduil?" she asked, her lips turning upward in a slight smile.

Erulastiel nodded, swallowed hard, then turned her back away from her chambers and ventured out to meet her future husband. She did not look back.

* * *

"What delays them that I must linger here?" Thranduil's deep voice rumbled, his impatience blunt as he stalked the floor of the small council chamber. "We should have made for the forest hours ago."

Celeborn gazed evenly at the Elvenking.

"Patience, dear Thranduil," he said evenly. "You mean to take my daughter away for a lifetime. Surely a few more hours in her homeland will not gravely impair your journey."

Thranduil turned to mutter an insult against the Lord of Lothlorien, but stopped as the door to the chambers was roughly forced open. His eyes first found the Lady Galadriel as she floated effortlessly into the room, and then fell upon the small figure behind her – Erulastiel. When she saw him standing against the wall, she allowed for a small, smug bow before turning to her father.

"I am ready," she said firmly, her voice projecting more courage and strength than she truly felt.

Lord Celeborn's eyes glazed slightly, but they hardened as he rose and embraced his daughter.

"Yes, you are," he said softly. He released her and cupped her face in his hands, gazing into her eyes before stepping away. "Your future husband awaits rather impatiently. Best you found your way before the morrow falls."

Erulastiel smiled then turned to Thranduil. His eyes swept over her clothing and narrowed in disdain – she would have sworn a soft sight of disapproval escaped his lips, but he remained silent. Together, the party turned from the chambers and found the two horses waiting to carry Erulastiel and Thranduil to Mirkwood.

Erulastiel stepped forward to her horse – but it was not hers. Her horse, her companion through many dangers, was silver as the nighttime stars, with a mane that cut a streak of black through his hair. This horse was dark as the night sky without starlight. She turned to face her parents.

"Where is Gilroch?" she asked.

The voice that responded was deep and annoyed.

"I thought it best to travel with fresh horses. Considering you rode your Gilroch leagues from the borders only yesterday, it was fitting that new mounts be provided," Thranduil stated from just behind her.

She could feel his breath on her neck as he continued, his voice somewhat softer and less arrogant.

"Daeroch knows the forest paths of Mirkwood like no other horse. You will be better suited on his back."

Erulastiel turned to face him, her eyes blazing with indignation. He only stared back with challenging gaze, daring her to start an argument now, as they prepared to leave her homeland. She quickly regained her composure and nodded.

"Very well," she said stiffly.

She turned to mount Daeroch, a horse black as the shadows. A slight movement from Thranduil caught her eye. The Elvenking bowed on one knee before her, his hands clasped together in an effort to aid her in mounting the great horse. She laughed slightly, and then easily hopped onto Daeroch's back. Thranduil rose slowly, looking at her curiously, before turning to his own horse, a stallion white and pure as the sunlight.

"I am not so small as you think, Elvenking," she called as he circled his horse around the small yard, preparing for their swift journey ahead.

"Oh, but you are, little one. You are so small, yet so powerful – but you cannot see," he responded, urging his horse away from the yard and forcing it into a gallop ahead of her.

Erulastiel turned to her parents for a final glance.

"I shall return within the month," she said, struggling to keep her voice from breaking.

Galadriel and Celeborn nodded, and her father gestured toward the white stallion galloping quickly away from them. Erulastiel bowed her head, and then urged her horse forward. She sped away from her parents and homeland, keeping her eyes locked on the white horse and golden rider riding at breakneck speed in front of her gaze. Her eyes clouded over. She did not look back.


End file.
